


Semper Ardens

by OrchidScript



Series: Ars Morte [3]
Category: Shades of Magic - V. E. Schwab
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Antari mediums, F/M, It's kind of tender and nice, M/M, Spirit Mediums, Talya gets her moment, This didn't turn out nearly as exciting as I was hoping but I'm not mad at it, a Halloween seance with Ned Tuttle, the Seance AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 05:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26347579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrchidScript/pseuds/OrchidScript
Summary: "With a final nod, Kell motioned for Holland to walk with him. In the center of the room stoof the same mirror-topped table from Kell’s previous session. It had been repaired and two chairs stood at its edges. Kell moved them to be directly across from one another, then sat down. Holland took the chair opposite, looking as imposing and serious as he ever did but it never quite reached his eyes. The green centers were shaken, uneasy, unsure.It had taken more than a fair bit of persuasion to convince Holland to be there in person. The man was still afraid of losing his powers, of the unknowns in practicing again. He had put up a fight, cornered and snapping until Kell gave up and let him be. Let the matter rest."The third installment of the Victorian Spiritualism AU -- Holland's Vosijk's returns to performing with Kell.
Relationships: Kell Maresh/Holland Vosijk, Talya/Holland Vosijk
Series: Ars Morte [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1697851
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	Semper Ardens

**Author's Note:**

> Semper Ardens  
> Always Burning
> 
> The third installment of the Victorian Spiritualism AU -- Holland's Vosijk's returns to performing with Kell.

Edward Archibald Tuttle III -- known to his friends simply as “Ned” -- was only expecting one man to arrive on his doorstep that night, not two. His group of friends and acquaintances had already gathered in the formal dining room, rearranged substantially to accommodate the crowd. Word of Master Kell Maresh’s spectacular previous performance had spread through spiritualist circles like flame through a match factory, and suddenly the whole of polite society was beating down his door for an invitation. With some rigorous vetting and Kell’s express approval, Ned had handpicked the lucky few to attend that evening.

It had been arranged through Kell’s brother, a genial but precise young man whose cash allowance and parentage were often the subject of gossip. Ned liked him well enough and did well to follow through on all the demands -- One table with one chair, no hand-holding or humming from audiences, no requests from guests (they can make personal appointments for that), and absolutely no scientists with a mind towards disruption. 

Only Kell and a focused audience.

So Ned was indeed very surprised to see Master Kell on his doorstep with a second man. A man who only weeks before had tossed his front parlor beyond recognition. Not as tall as Kell, but broader and more alive than Ned recalled him being. His eyes actually had color to them -- a lightly faded evergreen. His hair, on the other hand...

“Good evening, Mister Tuttle,” Kell began with uncharacteristic cheer. “May I introduce my partner for the evening, Mast--.”

“Holland Vosijk,” Ned supplied in a faint voice. “Yes, I recognized you from before… I thought you said he was dead, Master Kell.”

Kell blinks, eyes flickering as he thinks. “I don’t believe I did.”

“Then what was it that all these people are expecting to see, if not the vengeful ghost of a wronged companion?” Ned’s voice betrayed his confusion, his amazement. He wasn’t upset -- two mediums when he was promised one was a welcome surprise -- simply stunned. As far as his mind was concerned, Ned was speaking with a real-and-for-true dead man.

Well, previously dead, he supposed.

“If I may explain,” Holland cut in. His voice was a surprise as well -- clear but soft, deep and still as midnight. His green eyes glinted in the lamplight, so very unlike the shade of himself, and Ned could feel his poet’s brain beginning to take over. “I was once very skilled at projection. When I’ve been refining my technique, as of late, my past emotions have been wandering along with my soul. I don’t suppose you’ve heard of stone tapes?”

Ned gaped at the man for a moment, then brightened at the prospect of new secrets. “Well, that’s certainly new to me and I expect to hear more about it later, but I won’t keep you in the cold any longer. Come in, please.”

He moved out of the way, pulling the door open wide and the two men stepped in out of the late October chill. The last day of October, to be exact. A very prestigious day for a seance, let alone an  _ antari _ seance. 

The veil was thin, it’s depths and the spirits beyond easily plumbed. 

The atmosphere was perfect and expectations high.

Edward could swear he felt the men’s power vibrating off their bodies as they shed their coats and hats. He wondered if days like this affected them in ways the rest of them were immune to. Kell did look healthier than he had at their last meeting -- eyes bright, cheeks flushed, his constant seriousness less obvious. This boded extremely well for him and his gathered, trusted guests.

“Now, how shall I introduce you to the party?” Edward asked as they walked to the dining room. “Your brother gave me no specifications, Master Maresh.”

“Introduce me however you like,” Kell answered quietly. “I’ll introduce Holland myself.”

Very good.” With a brief nod, Edward Archibald Tuttle III turned to greet his guests. There were only 20, but the excitement was enough for a hundred. And Edward couldn’t help feeling like the center of it all, the ring leader conducting a beautiful, elegant, macabre circus.

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention!” Edward calls over the chatter, which hushes quickly. “Thank you. It is my great pleasure to introduce all of you to the man -- men -- of the hour. Masters Kell Maresh and Holland Vosijk.”

A small round of applause erupts and Edward ceded the floor to the young redhead and his partner.

~*~*~

Kell accepted the floor from his host,gesturing for Holland to do the same. The older man shakes his head and stays in place near the shadowed doorway. Kell leaves it be -- it was the man’s first performance in almost four years. Kell had no right to push.

“Good evening and thank you for your presence. Thank you for your attention,” Kell began smoothly, falling back on his education and oration lessons. He preferred to not be at the center of attention, but would admit there were worse things in this world. “My associate, Master Vosijk, and I will begin in a moment. We will perform several tasks for you. I hope none of them are as.. Eh, interesting, as some of you may have heard.”

A flutter of laughter, perhaps some disappointment.

Kell flashes an uncharacteristically wide smile back at Holland, then continues. “A few rules for the continuation of this evening. No hand holding, it is not necessary. No touching either of us or the spirits who may manifest. It will directly affect our own energies and may, in the most severe circumstances, injure us. Lastly, should anything go awry, please stay where you are unless we say otherwise. Am I understood, ladies and gentlemen?”

Another flurry of agreement and a few more whispers in the corners.

“Excellent. Now, for the exciting part,” Kell says, gesturing back to Holland. “I’m pleased to have my associate and mentor, Holland Vosijk with me this evening. Master Vosijk is antari, like myself, and highly skilled in a number of the metaphysical arts. Far more than I am. He rarely performs, so please enjoy this rare opportunity.”

With a final nod, Kell motioned for Holland to walk with him. In the center of the room stood the same mirror-topped table from Kell’s previous session. It had been repaired and two chairs stood at its edges. Kell moved them to be directly across from one another, then sat down. Holland took the chair opposite, looking as imposing and serious as he ever did but it never quite reached his eyes. The green centers were shaken, uneasy, unsure.

It had taken more than a fair bit of persuasion to convince Holland to be there in person. The man was still afraid of losing his powers, of the unknowns in practicing again. He had put up a fight, cornered and snapping until Kell gave up and let him be. Let the matter rest. 

But Kell hadn’t stopped insisting he could control whatever could happen. 

That if anything did happen, Kell was more than prepared to handle it and Holland was strong enough to as well. Kell didn’t mention their previous performances -- the ones where they would reenact previous arguments as Holland projected his soul out from the safety of Kell’s spirit cabinet. Kell didn’t mention the success after success in the years since Holland’s accident, how he was more or less back to normal. Kell didn’t mention that Holland was strong again, that he wasn’t depleted or bedridden or dead. Kell didn’t mention these things.

But Talya did and, in the end, it was Talya who convinced him. It was Talya who had been able to push Holland into this next step; had pushed him to trust that Kell was not the rash, overly ambitious young man he had been half a decade earlier.

Talya would be making an appearance tonight, a final reassurance that Holland wouldn't be left to flounder.

Under any other circumstances, Kell would admit it hurt to discover how much Holland did not trust him. After how many years and how much energy Kell had put into his recovery, how long he had waited and hoped for Holland to heal. Holland still didn’t trust him. Any other day, that would have eaten Kell from the inside out. But he would not let it tonight, simply because he was glad Holland was at his side.

Kell pulled his small silver knife from his pocket and slid it across his palm. Squaring his shoulders, he watched the blood coat his palm then laid it out on the table for Holland to take. “Ready?”

Holland rested his fingers lightly on Kell’s bloody palm, then nodded stiffly. “As good as.”

They had agreed for Kell to be the source this evening, the pool to be drawn upon by the veil and the spirits who may latch on, come through. It wasn’t so different from conducting a seance by himself, truthfully, or even so different from when Kell was still in training -- when Holland’s hand was guiding his through the proper motions, etiquette, pronunciation. They were in reversed positions now. Kell guiding Holland.

It seemed fitting.

Kell settles against the straight back of his chair, resting both feet on the floor, straightening his neck, squaring his shoulders, then closing his eyes. He hears Holland do the same, feels the older man’s hand slide to more firmly grip Kell’s. Kell grips back, then falls into the same pattern. The old dance and familiar words.

_ As travars. _

_ As enose. _

It feels like falling. Tumbling head over heels down an old mineshaft, knowing sometime, somehow, he’ll hit the bottom. He feels all of it - the chilly step down between the layers of the veil, the frigid brush of spirits against his face and neck, the tendrils of his magic snaking and tightening somewhere out ahead of him. Kell does not open his eyes. Instead, he reaches his other hand out blindly for Holland’s. When he finds it, Kell laces their fingers together, resting both palms down. 

He feels Holland squeeze his fingers, a quiet allowance for the next step, the next round. Kell squeezes back, smiling at the hollow silence of the room around them. Beside the faint rustle of clothes, no one made a sound. The lull before the great reveal. Then they would be all gasps and excitement.

_ As orense. _

_ As enose… _

_ Kell? _

He smiled.  _ Yes, it’s me. Are you ready, Talya? It’s curtain call. _

He feels the woman’s hands on his shoulders, the dulled sense of her standing at his back.  _ Always ready. But, what say we have some fun with them first? It is a holiday, Kell. We should give them their money’s worth. _

_ Alright,  _ Kell agreed, nodding to no one.  _ How much leash should I give you? _

_ Oh not much more than you already have _ , Talya mused.  _ I was thinking some knocked over trinkets, fingers up the back, maybe a whispered word or two before I reveal myself. Just to set the mood before you hand me over to Holland.  _

_ If you materialize in front of the host, you’ll do me a world of good. He’s the one nearest the door, fiddling with his rings.  _ Kell smiled.  _ He’s a true believer and it would raise my paycheck. Do you mind? _

He felt Talya’s arms wrap securely around him, her chin resting at his shoulders. Something -- a hand or her hair -- fluttered against his cheek.  _ Buy me flowers and I’d be happy to. _

_ Of course. Thank you. _ Kell let out a steadying breath, then released her to do whatever she liked. It was then that Kell opened his eyes. He wanted to see the reactions and whatever Talya had in store. He had never worked closely with one spirit, had never had a spirit guide the way that Talya had always been to Holland. For a moment he was almost jealous of the pair. Maybe the novelty of working in tandem had worn off for them over the years, but to Kell the ability to collaborate with a spirit who wanted to put on a decent show, who was predictable and more or less safe, was fascinating.

Exhilarating even.

For the first time in a long time, Kell found himself genuinely enjoying the evening. The way the performance moved around him without entirely relying  _ on him _ . Talya wasn’t sapping his energy as she traipsed around the dining room, seen only by him and Holland. Her fluttering movements, her silent control over the room and its occupants, didn’t leave him drained and dull. Now Kell understood why Holland had once been so good at long performances with the deceased ballerina -- Talya did all the work, taking only what she needed, while Holland sat merely as conduit and partner.

Kell’s eyes followed her as she circled the room twice, no more than ten minutes elapsing as she single-handedly changed the energy in the dining room. The audience was on edge, tense and expectant; ready to burst from the sheer anticipation Talya had fomented from nothing. Kell was entranced, indulging in being an onlooker, lost in the artistry of it.

“Talya, enough.” Holland’s voice rolled through the darkness like thunder. “Show yourself.”

A sigh ricocheted around the walls, vibrating the crystals hanging from the chandelier. Slowly, like fog rolling in from the sea, the white outline of a young woman began to appear and solidify, her romantic ballet costume gradually blocking Edward Tuttle from his guests. Soon enough, Talya stood before them as solid as if she were truly alive. 

“You’re no fun anymore, Holland,” Talya exhaled, crossing her arms over her chest.

Kell snapped back to himself, feeling his power shift and twist in the tendons of his wrists. It sent a small shock up his spine. He watched in bold-faced curiosity as the gossamer white ribbons of his  _ antari _ powers shifted in front of him, branching off to thread through Holland’s fingers and tether around his wrists. All guided by Talya’s hand.

Holland glanced up at him, offering a faintly nervous smile. His eyes still held hesitance, still held that cracked, shaken appearance. It gripped at Kell’s worries, but Holland merely shook his head. “Hesitance is the death of advantage,” he whispered.

“I remember,” Kell answered in the same low tone. “Balance, and you’ll be fine.”

“I know,” Holland exhaled. With a last breath, he pulled his hands from Kell’s and turned to face the ghost in the corner. “Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to introduce Talya Verreaux, better known as the Basque Rose. In life, she was a close friend of mine, something that has not changed in death. If you would allow her, she would like to perform a small piece for you now. Talya?"

Talya fluffed her skirts and drifted towards the open part of the room. She curtsied low to Holland, then rose up onto the toes of her shoes. “Thank you, dear.”

The room descended into pin drop silence as Talya began her dance -- a swirling, ephemeral rendition of something called the Willies. Kell had only been half listening when she had told him nearly three months earlier and, much to her disdain, had no frame of reference for the art the woman loved.

Somewhere in the middle of her performance, Kell feels Holland’s hand return to his. He stays perfectly still, eyes trained on Talya, waiting for what Holland would do next. The older man didn’t do anything more. His hand stayed resting on top of Kell’s. Constant, warm, alive. As though it were only the two of them, sitting at dinner or hunched over a table at some riverside pub. As though there was no one else but them.

Kell latched onto that feeling. He rotated his hand until they rested palm to palm again. He curled his fingers over Holland’s, gently holding. 

No power was exchanged. 

Nothing altered in the image in front of them. 

The performance continued undisturbed before a captive audience. 


End file.
